


Into the Woods, Into Sam

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Forests, Lots of kissing, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Mind Meld, Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dangerous curse locks Sam inside his own head. To save him, Dean has to go into Sam's mind, and he learns things about Sam and sees things there he never thought he'd see. Written for Fanfic Authors Appreciation Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Woods, Into Sam

**Author's Note:**

> This is sort of a practice in descriptions and settings-within-settings. I hope I did it justice. Thank you for reading!
> 
> The art for this piece was done by the incredible Pan (stargazingchola @ LJ) for the SPN Quickybang challenge. To her--thank you SO much for creating such vibrant and colorful artwork, it's amazing <3 You can view her art post here: http://stargazingchola.livejournal.com/3783.html

Dean dropped onto the ground with a muffled thump, straightening as he blinked away dizziness and tried to get a grasp on his surroundings. Missouri’s words rang clearly in his head:  _think of it like this, boy. Minds are complex. They’re not physical. So it’s gonna manifest for you as a city block or the inside of a building. That’s how most people’s minds are organizes, so just wander the streets, you hear? Your brother’s hiding in a memory somewhere. You just gotta find him._

Easier said than done. Dean had been prepared for concrete under his feet and bricks by his side but this… was  _not_  that.

Instead of the constant thrum of cars, horns, music, and chatter, the scene around him was colored with babbling water, the overlapping voices of birds, and the lazy rustle of leaves in a summer breeze. He breathed in deeply. Nothing rotten or stagnant, only earthen, flowery scents. He spun around in a slow circle, looking up and around at his surroundings. The trees stretched high into the sky, weaving a thin canopy over his head that dappled sunshine like gold coins onto the ground. Another breeze pushed past him, spurring the leaves to rustle and shimmer in the light, the light and shadows pulling back and forth across the paths like a boat in the sea.

He took a step forward, further up the path. He slid off his jacket, rolling his shoulders until it fell into his hands. He tied around his waist and kept moving, his thoughts a constant mantra of  _Sam Sam Sam_.

 

 

The path sloped upward over a gentle incline. Once he crested it, he saw a valley spread out before him with a creek slithering its way between hills and peaks like a serpent. The water danced like diamonds and cascaded past little waterfalls. A bird flew low, its wing brushing the water before it rose and sped away.

Dean wasn’t much of a stop-and-smell-the-roses kind of guy, but he couldn’t deny the forest its calm beauty. It was quiet and confident, filled with the trunks of trees that had seen entire centuries, massive and immovable.

More than that, he quickly realized,  _Sam_  was beautiful. This was, in a way, Sam far more intimately than he had ever seen before. This was what his soul was like when you took a stroll in it, who he was in the core of his core. If everyone Missouri had ever seen were cities, then they fell pitifully short of Sam’s unassuming majesty. Fuck grids and gridlock, Sam was a breath of fresh air.

Dean kept moving, sweeping his head left and right as he went, taking in the different kinds of trees and the dips and rises of the dirt around him. The sky above him was a blue jay’s wing, nested in fat puffs of cotton. The path ahead of him was bracketed by two tall Oak trees on either side, making the path just wide enough for his shoulders to slip through. Whistling a tuneless melody, he reached out and pressed his palm flat against one of the Oaks, the breath punched out of him when his eyes were filled with vivid slashes of light, of memory.

Even though it ran a painful current through him, he kept his hand pressed against the tree, and it slowly warmed under his skin, the aching edge slowly fading away. It was replaced with a feeling of security as he watched a soundless scene play out before him: Sam, sprinting on a tiny grass field, kicking a soccer ball into a net. When the ball entered the goal, he turned around with wide eyes and heated cheeks, taking in the cheers of his teammates around him. Dean saw himself hopping out of the bleachers and jogging onto the field, slapping his brother on the back hard enough to make him stumble. John loped over a moment later, and even though Dean couldn’t hear him speak, he remembered it as clearly as Sam did:  _well done, son. Knew it you had it in you, keep making us proud._

He felt what Sam did: the wonder, the surprise at his win, at Dad’s mere attendance, a miracle all its own. And the praise, vibrating through him with a happy hum.

 

 

He pulled his hand away from the tree and the forest replaced the memory like vision after oxygen deprivation. His face ached with the grin he’d been wearing all throughout the memory, and it didn’t lessen as he jogged forward, touching tree after tree, mostly with just a hand, sometimes with his forehead, trying to somehow breathe in where Sam was, how to get to him, anything. He tried not to let the shaky feeling that he had no idea how this place worked or how to find Sam get to him. Instead, he walked, a hand out like a blind man as he let Sam’s greatest hits wrap around him like a safety blanket. It was being close to him, but it wasn’t good enough– it wasn’t Sam next to him, in the flesh. Or in this case, in the electrical impulses.

He wasn’t even thinking when he put a hand down on the railing of the little wooden bridge spanning the creek. He was pulled away from the woods, the bridge rattling beneath his touch as he was spun into the air and dunked into somewhere new, but somewhere he recognized: the Bunker. The tiles of the kitchen surrounded Sam’s face, his eyes ringed with a purple tinge and his hair ruffled, pillow-fresh. He was still in a thin tee and sweatpants, his big paws wrapped around a cup of coffee. Dean saw himself walk in, holding two bowls of cereal. He held one out to Sam, who gratefully took it. They ate together, trading muted jokes and random comments, and Dean didn’t care that he couldn’t hear. This was any morning, all of them for the past month, really. Why would this be tucked away so strongly in Sam’s head, so vividly? This morning held no distinction to Dean. He idly watched his sweatpants-clad legs stretch out under the little table, his ankle bumping against Sam’s.

Then, all at once, the scene wasn’t familiar at all. Sam beamed at him and hooked his leg around Dean’s, pulling at him until Dean’s belly was pressed against the table. Dean snapped some complaint and unwound his foot from Sam’s, reaching over and grabbing a fistful of Sam’s shirt. Sam squawked, his cheeks heating to a rosy color as he flailed, sliding out of the chair and onto his bare feet when Dean tugged again. Dean wrapped his hands around Sam’s waist and pressed him close until Sam was half in his lap, a leg pressed between Dean’s.

Dean watched silently as his double reached up to curl his fingers in Sam’s soft hair. Sam’s smile was equally gentle, raw and open in a way that terrified Dean. His double tilted his chin up and kissed Sam, nudging his mouth open. Sam willingly parted his mouth under Dean’s, and the kiss deepened until they were slowly rutting against each other, in wavelike, desperate movements, their loose pants hiding nothing.

Dean yanked his hand away from the bridge like he’d been scalded, stumbling backward and just barely catching himself on a nearby tree. A split-second flash of him and Sam watching  _Blade Runner_ blinked into his head before he took his hand away, straightening, breathing hard.

Sam wanted… Sam dreamt about, fucking fantasized about… _them._

He wished for the same thing Dean did. Sam’s fantasy had the same puppylove look Dean had conjured up night after night, thinking about how Sam was down the hall from him, so fucking far, not next to him or a bed away, too damn far. He thought about how soft Sam would be under him, how warm. How he’d smile up at Dean like everything was okay.

Jesus, Sam was the same. All this time, his need and Sam’s were the same, completely the same, and they’d never known. Dean felt like he should’ve known before now, because he  _knew_  Sam, but hell, Sam hadn’t guessed either, had he? Dean only mourned the years they’d lost to stolen looks and feelings of self-hatred, the years they’d surely have to make up for. No, Dean didn’t feel anything else besides a floaty, excited feeling, because he’d never really loved someone before, not like Sam, and he didn’t care if it was cheesy, now he was going to get his chance.

A rustling noise startled him out of his trance. Sam stood in front of him, only he wasn’t six-four, he was five-eleven, with moppy hair and a hoodie he’d lost when he went to Stanford. He grinned up at Dean, dimples forming parentheses around his wide mouth. “Dean,” he said in a high, youthful voice, “I think you’re looking for me.”

This was how Sam saw himself? How he was in his safest place? “Where is this?” he asked, putting his hands into his pockets and quirking an eyebrow.

Sam shrugged, a whisper of a smile still on his face. “Never came here, exactly,” he said, “it’s a bunch of different places… the Cleveland Botanical Gardens we went to together, a nature preserve in Ypsilanti, Muir Woods. Places I wanted to keep for myself.”

Dean nodded, staring over Sam’s shoulder at a doe stepping carefully through brush, nosing at some plants and flicking her tail. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, taking a look around before turning back to Dean with bright, unburdened eyes like he hadn’t seen in years. Part of him wanted to let Sam stay here, and wander away his years, but he knew they’d both be able to come back here one day, after their last breaths. Dean vowed they’d take them together.

“So,” Sam spoke up, clearing his throat, “you here to save me or something?”

“Yes,” Dean frowned, furrowing his brows. He bowed stiffly, exaggerating the seriousness in his tone. “I’m your knight in shining armor, and you’re my damsel in distress.”

Sam laughed with his head thrown back and his throat bared. “Shut up, jerk,” he said, brushing bangs out of his eyes.

“Make me, bitch,” Dean waggled his eyebrows, launching into the spell before Sam could open his mouth. “i _ntra nos de terra mentis experrectus ubi ad rem redeamus rursus ossa ligat_ ,” he recited, and closed his eyes as a buzzing noise and a bright light swept over them.

–

When he jolted upright, the hospital chair digging into his spine, Sam’s eyes were open, they were _open, thank god,_  and Sam was looking at him, his lips raised in a lopsided smile. Dean stood up, leaning over Sam’s bed and tilting Sam’s chin up with his forefinger. “Hey,” he whispered, searching Sam’s stained glass windows of eyes, wanting more than anything to worship the church they belonged to.

“Hey,” Sam whispered back, and leaned forward, pressing his lips to Dean’s. Dean pressed a hand against Sam’s chest, feeling his heat, his heartbeat, just to make sure, and sighed into Sam’s mouth, kissing him back in a way that could only mean _I love you._

They stayed like that, connected, until Missouri’s voice called to them from the other side of the door, telling them to zip up before she came in. They separated, a line of drool connecting them, cheeks equally red, and Dean had never been more grateful for a meddling curse before in his entire life.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments mean the world!


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